Honest
by Unique Art
Summary: /One-shot/ Any questions he had once had for the person seemingly similar to him had no meaning. “I hate you.” Both of them knew it was true.


Why did he even come?

Now, under the gaze of the violet-eyed young man, he regretted accepting this offer. He knew what would happen. He always knew. The stare was eating away at him, daring – begging? – him to speak. But no words formed. Any questions he had once had for the person seemingly similar to him had no meaning.

"Are you okay?" His words were blunt. Direct. No concern was foolishly laced with them, like one might expect. It was obvious he didn't really want to know.

Two could play at that game.

A dry smile lingered on his lips. "No. No, I'm not." The familiar abyss of silence engulfed the two individuals. Neither seemed to be affected. The one who had asked the question didn't seem surprised by his answer, or even amused. His face was empty. "And neither are you."

No answer followed for a while. They sat in an eerie quiet that let thoughts mingle and take shape. The younger wished it would end, for his mind was not a place he knew well, despite all of the time he spent there. Often, answers and phrases that _were not his _popped up. Ideas unlike who he thought he was – should be, wanted to be, desperately wanted – came sneakily.

It was easy to blame the Voice.

"You're right." The cold tone made him jump. He had forgotten where he was for a moment. "I'm not." Something unkind lingered in his voice. Was it directed at him? the boy – yes, he was still only a boy – wondered. No. No it wasn't.

It was just honesty.

If there was any doubt in his mind that they were opposites, it was gone now. This twisted soul held something he could never have.

"Why did you invite me?" His voice was no longer as anyone remembered it. It was low, secretive, but never timid. It held something deeper than hate; it was deeper than despair. It was enough to make the other young man answer before he had a chance to think it through.

"I don't know."

Bitterly, the white-haired teen snorted. "You don't know?" he repeated mockingly, and leaned forward in his chair.

"Not a clue." The sharpness that came behind the words was evident. "I felt like it." His tone made the guest seethe. It was confident, very boastful – like he didn't need a reason. Everyone should just go along with what he said, not questioning anything. It was his right. Like it shouldn't matter _why._

It was too familiar.

A nasty feeling bubbled within him, and a sneer formed on his (once) angelic face. "You just wanted to see me? So you could rub it in too?" What "It" was, well, even the speaker was not sure. "I have my own will, you know!" he hissed with the mild hysteria he rarely let show.

"I know that." The violet-eyed young man smirked, clearly amused by this outburst. "_You_ decided to come. It was your choice."

_It was your choice. yourchoice._

"Nothing's ever my choice!" His eyes reflected an anger that wasn't really meant for the arrogant man before him. Not this one.

"You're a terrible liar. It was always your choice, _Bakura_." He was taunting him, all smug and confident. The words repeated in the white-haired teen's mind until it was all that he could hear.

Then he snapped.

"Don't you dare call me that, Malik!" He shot up, his legs hitting the table roughly. He didn't notice that. He didn't notice anything – not the people turning to look at him, nor the fact that his words had little effect on the man he called Malik.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he paused, snickering slightly, "_Ryou_. I didn't know that being called _your name_ disturbed you so much." He let it sink in. "Why won't you just accept it? It's been three years. He was apart of you. He was your other half. No matter how much you fight it, at least that much is true." Malik had turned somber, but his words had never cut so deep.

Ryou – _hewasRyou_ – lowered himself, shaking uncontrollably. The stability of his emotions was obviously near non-existent. "But it's not true," he said.

"Trying to convince yourself?" he asked bluntly. Nothing he did was subtle.

"Are you?" The cold words rang in the air as they two stared at each other emotionlessly. Their gazes were blank, full of unsaid words and silent hatred that ran too far deep to fight. The opposites – because, no matter what either thought, that's what they were, always were – couldn't deny it. Parts of them that they had no control over knew this. It wasn't their choice to decide.

For once, Malik had nothing to say. All he could do was study him.

Their pasts were parallel, that much was true. But the fact that anything other than that linked them together was a lie. From their appearance – one soft and fair, the other wild and vivid – to their personalities – Ryou, quiet and lonely and never understood, and Malik, arrogant and lost and bitter, they were nothing alike. It would've been easier to say they were.

But that was wrong. They hated each other. Why wouldn't they? They were everything the other wished they could be.

"I hate you."

They words were said by both boys at the same time. One started first, but neither was sure which. But it felt natural, almost right.

Ryou let out a long, throaty laugh. It wasn't humorous, or even bitter. Malik gave him a look that was meant to look mocking but turned into understanding. This – this whole thing – was rather strange. They both knew it.

The broken boys (still boys, just boys) fell into a quiet again. This time, it wasn't awkward or thought-provoking. It was empty, so very numb. It held no significant meaning, and it wasn't meant to be deep.

"I won't be seeing you." The mocha-eyes teen sounded certain of it.

"Oh, dear Ryou, I do not think you will."

Ryou stood, as Malik watched. With one last, shared glance – _hate, envy, knowledge, pain _– he left.

The Egyptian sat there, alone, his one chance of companionship vanished without another look back. He couldn't muster enough emotion to even care. It was better this way. He hadn't invited Ryou with the foolish hope of anything more than he had gotten. He knew that they were never going to go past a level of hate.

Malik was, if nothing else, honest.

---

**A/N: I've been gone a while, right? I hope someone still remembers me, haha. I think my style and writing has changed, but that's for you to decide, I believe. This is probably a rare occurrence, I won't lie. Updates won't be often. Check out the note on my profile for more details.**

**Aaaaand, this is my 40th story. Crazy, neh? That is quite a lot!**

**Anyhow, this story is set a few years after cannon. That means Ryou and Malik have grown, and changed quite a bit. My characterization was thought-out. You know how most stories depict them as friends and very similar? Well, the show never really gave evidence to that, in my opinion. What if they…hated each other? This is just my take on it (: **

**The ending is up to interpretation. Do they really despise each other? Are they afraid to admit they could be friends? Will they ever meet again? Up to you!**

**Comments and criticism are very much appreciated!**

**-Art**

**DISCLAMIER: Sadly, that has not changed in the past few months.**


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